


No Rest for the Wicked

by AlumbianChronicler



Category: Frankenstein & Related Fandoms, Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Death, Henry loves his idiot scientist, M/M, Other, Reanimation, Slow Burn, the creature is clever, victor is as always an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlumbianChronicler/pseuds/AlumbianChronicler
Summary: Recurring illness and working endless nights takes a toll on one's health, and Victor Frankenstein discovers just how mortal he is when his health runs out.  But his creature is not yet done with him.A timeline alteration where Victor dies of illness before he can finish (or rather, fail to finish) the promised second creation, and what comes about when his creature reanimates him.
Relationships: Henry Clerval/Victor Frankenstein
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

My creator, did you think you could escape me so easily?

You may have pulled me from death's embrace, but that did not leave you immune to her touch. I knew that you were plagued with illness, weakened by the demons of your mind and creation, myself among them, but you seemed to me too stubborn to actually succumb.

I regret that I was wrong.

I was merely checking on your progress, ensuring that your promise would be kept, but found you consumed by fever. You failed to recoil from my presence, something which under any other circumstance would have brought me joy, but you barely acknowledged me either, lost in fever dreams.

I know many of your nightmares were of me. Me, who killed your youngest brother, who doomed a family friend to hang, who should have been your joyous success but instead has been a curse upon your mind since the kindling of my life.

I should have sought a doctor, but I was paralyzed with fear. And so, I tried to tend to you myself, surrounded by your gruesome unfinished work, bits and pieces of corpses which were supposed to come together into a mate for me.

How was I supposed to know how to care for you? My experience was limited, and your notes were more concerned with reanimation of the dead than preservation of life. Searching desperately through your journals, I hit upon an idea.

If I could not nurse you to health, I would instead return you to life.

I tended you as best I could, easing your pain as you would not have mine. It occurred to me that, with the knowledge in your journals, perhaps I could finish my bride myself, but my fingers were too uncouth to manage the novel stitching of vein to muscle and tendon to bone. Besides, I could hardly venture into cemeteries and mortuaries myself to procure more material.

But you were intact. All I would need to do would be to imbue you with new life. The process would, I thought, clear your lungs of infection as well, allowing fresh air to fill them and bring your mind back to its keenness.

Thus, as you descended further into delirium, I cleared your laboratory and made my preparations.

The night you died was blessedly stormy, and I dared to raise a wretched prayer in thanks at the event, as an immediate revival would be less tricky work than one delayed.

Part of me did not expect the process to succeed.

Part of me, I think, did not want it to.

But lightning struck, your chest heaved, and your eyes opened again, blurry with the pain of living.

And the creation brought his creator back to life.


	2. Chapter 2

I waited anxiously for my creator to regain lucidity. It seemed that my efforts had been successful; he lived. But was he still who he had been before his death? I had no memory of who I may have been before my creation. I could only hope that the freshness of his body and brain would preserve his mind.

It was somewhat unnerving, watching the usually-dextrous hands twitch and flex, mimicked by the muscles of his face as his nerves triggered spasmodically. Was that how I had looked, in my first moments of life?

After several minutes, he fell still, breathing slowly, blearily looking around the room. His gaze fell on me and twisted with disgust.

A good sign.

"Demon," he gasped. "What have you done to me?" Or I think that's what he tried to say. His mouth wasn't quite reacting smoothly, his tongue clumsy and speech slurred.

Victor tried to heave himself upright, but instead only managed to roll his body off the table. I darted forward, catching him before he fell to the floor.

He reacted violently, struggling clumsily against me in a disgusted attempt to escape my grasp.

Another good sign, I supposed.

I set him down safely on the ground and moved back a few meters to sit on the floor facing him. Watching him.

One half of his face was scorched in branching lines, reminiscent of the very electricity which reanimated him. He stared at me, breathing laboriously, clutching at the table leg in an effort to stabilize an upright-seated position.

"What did you do?" he slurred again.

"I…" I paused, collecting my words. I had been so occupied with ensuring my creator would live, would continue on and not leave me  _ alone _ in the world, that I had not bothered to practice what I would say to him. "I have… returned your life. You were ill and I could not allow you to leave me, not without completing your work. So, I used your notes…"

"Vile fiend, you would dare…"

That was more clear. It seemed that the un-coordination was a temporary thing, and since Victor appeared to have returned with his mind intact, he was regaining control of his body far more quickly than I had.

"Yes, I would dare," I replied. "I will not let you leave me alone. Though you despise me, my creator, and I you, you are all the hope I have."

He lifted a hand to his face, grimacing in pain as he touched the wounds there. I could see the same lightning-wounds running along the back of his hand. "You… I was dead?"

"Yes."

"You brought me back?"

"Yes."

"Using my notes, my methods… God, you touched my equipment!" He grabbed at the table leg, using it to haul himself to his feet.

I watched him, remaining seated on the floor. My creator was definitely himself.

"Fiendish…" he muttered, using the table to support himself as he made his way around to his desk on shaky legs. There, he sifted through the journals and papers strewn across its surface where I had left them. "...creature. What have you done?"

For the first time, his tone was less derisive, tinged instead with curiosity.

He turned from the desk, stumbling over to a metal plate that was reflective enough to act as a rough mirror. Again, Victor lifted a hand to his face, tracing what would become prominent scars. "This is despicable work."

"It is your own research."

"I sought to imbue life flawlessly, not…"

"Like me?"

His expression twisted into a sneer. "You. Are a mistake." His sneer quickly faltered. "Though… I suppose... proof of my methods..."

"And now you yourself are further proof."

He turned back to his reflection, nearly pressing his face against the metal in his attempt to look more closely at his skin and eyes, to assess and quantify his return to life. "I… yes. I am."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a forewarning, this chapter has a bit of blood and mention of drawing blood.

"You should rest."

"Don't tell me what I should do, fiend." 

I scowled, watching my creator from the corner of the laboratory. I should have left him to his own devices; let him wear himself out with his self-experimentation and returned later to demand fulfillment of his promise to me. 

But I feared his destructive tendencies would lead to a relapse, again leaving him ill and, perhaps, dead once more.

He was drawing his own blood again, three large glass vials already full. It looked like normal blood to me, as red as anyone else's, but he was mixing in chemicals and watching the reactions with a fixed scowl on his face.

"You're going to make yourself ill again," I commented. 

"Who's the doctor here?"

"You never finished school."

He looked up at me, lamp-light flickering over those new scars running across his face, giving him a twisted visage that I will admit gave me a surge of satisfaction. 

"Get. Out," he demanded.

"No."

He picked up a scalpel, eying me with hatred. “Get. Out!" This time, his effort to yell at me left him doubled over, gasping. The sound of his labored breaths filled the room, broken only by the sound of rain and wind outside.

Part of me wanted to go to him, to carry him to bed and rest, where I could enforce his recovery. Part of me did indeed want to leave, to let him suffer the effects of his hubris alone. Alone, as I was.

Or… as I had been.

We were more similar now, he and I. Both pulled from death; creation and creator, both marked for damnation...

I stepped toward him. Victor snarled at me, swinging the scalpel and embedding it into my forearm. I ignored it and caught his arms as his efforts brought on another bout of wheezing. 

I picked him up, cradling him in my arms as easily as a child. For a moment, the memory of young William's life so easily squeezed out by my own hands lingered in my mind, but I brushed it away as Victor struggled weakly against my grip.

"Damn you, release me. If you wanted to destroy me, you should have left me dead!"

"Victor. Stop."

He stopped struggling, I think surprising both of us.

"I still intend to collect on your promise to me," I stated evenly.

He paled at this. I think he had forgotten about the unfinished work which I had cleared away and largely disposed of in my own preparations for his resurrection. 

"I do not yet wish to see you dead… again. I will ensure you do not destroy yourself in your recovery, whether you cooperate in those efforts or not."

He was silent as I carried him to the bed and set him down. A red smear was left on one side of his shirt from where I bled on him from my scalpel wound.

"I will write down every step in how I resurrected you, so that you can review it" I continued. My creator was still silent, staring at me with loathing. "And until I am done, you will not leave this bed." It was undeniably a threat, and I met his gaze until he looked away from me.

I nodded in satisfaction and, after removing the metal blade from my arm and bandaging the small wound, moved to the desk, making sure I could see him while I wrote from where I sat on the floor.

He scowled at me for several minutes before I finally heard a soft  _ whumpf _ and looked over to see him sprawled across the bed. His chest still heaved like he had to fight against his own ribcage for each breath, but he was breathing slower now. He was finally asleep.

I sat back, staring at my creator. He was the architect of my solitude, but also my hope for a future. He was my loathed foe and the closest thing I had to a father. I wondered, had Lucifer been presented with his own Creator, wounded and dying, would he have had mercy on Him?

And what now of my future? The nearly-complete creation who was to be my bride had had to be moved aside, Victor's work irreparably ruined so that I could restore him to life.

I had intended to demand a restart to his work, but as I sat and watched him in the flickering lamp light, that seemed like a distinctly uncertain possibility.

Certainly if there was still something wrong with his lungs.

I set down the pen and stood, swinging my cloak around myself and making my way to the door. I needed space to think, and being indoors made me uneasy. My creator would not awaken anytime soon, and regardless, I would not be far away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that here, Victor hasn't had a chance to destroy his second creation and set off the latter set of deaths at the creature's hands.
> 
> Goodness these two are dramatic.
> 
> And yes, Henry will be showing up at... some point. He needs to find a boat over to the Orkneys first, since he's not busy being, you know, murdered.

Creature

It was still raining, but I was no stranger to inclement weather. I wandered to the shore, standing and watching the restless waves crash against the rocks. It was cold and lonely here; a suitable place for my creator’s work, though an unlikely location for scientific progress.

I wasn’t sure whether he had come here hoping to keep me from following, or his friend Clerval. Certainly, my creator wouldn’t want his dearest friend to know the abominable activities he was engaged in.

Abominable indeed…

I didn’t know what to do next.

I wanted not to be alone. It had been so close; my creator had been nearly finished with his second creation. But I didn’t know if, now, he would be able to start over and finish what he had begun.

I should have been angry with him. How dare he drive himself to his death? How dare he try and escape fulfilling what he owed me? I had been so angry at him for much of my short life, but now… my chest ached with worry instead. With concern for his well-being.

Though he derided me for my form, and I cursed him for my fate, he was still my creator.

The rain began slacking off, the wind dying down as the storm settled into a steady drizzle. It was dark enough that even I had trouble seeing more than a few meters from shore. A few minutes more, and I was no closer to mental peace than before I stepped out into the rain.

Not that that was surprising. Mental peace was something that usually eluded me.

I returned inside. I removed my cloak, hanging it from a rafter so that it could dry, and set about kindling a proper fire in the neglected fireplace. I had to move aside more of the laboratory equipment, accidentally knocking a large glass flask to the floor as I did. I stood motionless for a long moment, listening for Victor to awaken at the sound, but I heard nothing from the bed.

I would clean that up once I got the fire going.

After the fire was crackling steadily and the glass was cleaned up (with only minimal cuts to myself), I proceeded to rifle through the rest of my creator’s supplies. Most of it was packets and vials of various chemicals, carefully packed in cloth to avoid breakage. Much of the rest was extra scalpels, scissors, and saws.

Did he feed himself at all out here?

I finally did find some proper sustenance, and threw most of it together into a single pot of water over the fire to simmer into something edible. That done, I found myself without further distraction. Sitting back on my heels, I crouched in the small space and watched the fire, surrounded by instruments of science; many of the same sorts which would have been used to construct me.

There was a smell of death in the shack, not quite covered by the strong smell of formaldehyde and other chemical solutions. Did the same smell linger on me, when I first stumbled my way out of the laboratory in Ingolstadt?

Did I still smell faintly of embalming fluid, too used to it myself to notice?

Or did I still smell of death and decay, though my sutures had long since healed over?

…would my creator now have an ineffable sense of death about him, more than just the lightning scars marring his skin?

A groan pulled me from my flickering thoughts, and I looked toward the bed to see my creator awake, watching me.

“You should be asleep,” I said.

“Why are you still here?” he demanded.

I regarded him for a long moment. It was a question I didn’t know the true answer to. “Are you hungry?”

For a moment, anger and disgust flashed across his expression, before he closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “Don’t…” he started, laying back down with a cough. “... Be here when I awaken.”

\-----

Victor

The sound of breaking glass pulled me from sleep, though it took several more minutes for me to regain enough wakefulness to be cognizant of my surroundings. My body ached. Each breath was difficult, as though the fibers of my lungs fought against their own expansion, and my skin burned with fiery wounds.

But I was alive.

The sound of movement in the shack caught my attention, and I turned my head to see a hulking shape, silhouetted against firelight. My creation. My abhorrent, terrible mistake… who had found me dying… and brought me back to life.

I watched him for a long time, his terrible features made nearly tolerable in the low, flickering firelight. It was difficult to see what he was doing, but after awhile the smell of a stew mingled with the overriding smell of death and chemicals.

He didn’t move for the longest time, simply sitting and watching the fire. I imagined for a moment that perhaps he had died, the life so abhorrently bestowed upon his twisted form simply leaving him, and leaving me free from the curse of his existence.

For some reason that fantasy didn’t bring me any satisfaction, and I groaned to myself as I realized that he was not going to leave .

He turned to face me. Dared to tell me I should be resting.

“Why are you still here?” There was nothing for him here, not until I could return to my work, and I did not think I could stomach continuing such a grim task. Not now.

He didn’t answer. Why did the wretch not answer? Ever otherwise so eloquent, with a silvered tongue in a damned face…

I would not admit to hunger. I would not give in to the demon’s demands again. Surely he simply intended to ensure that my promise would be kept, that my hands would carry out his damned desires once more, and that was the only reason he remained. Still, as my indignation was overcome again by exhaustion, I found myself inexplicably reassured that he was there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone so smart, Victor sure is an idiot.

Creature

The small cluster of buildings on the island could hardly be called a village. Most of their supplies had to be brought in by boat from the mainland, as little more than sheep thrived on the slopes.

My creator already had a deal to have supplies brought to his little shack, and apparently that did indeed include food, though I didn't know when they would next arrive and I wasn't about to wake him and ask. Until then, what he had would have to sustain him. I could supplement for myself.

As the sun rose, I kept the pot of stew simmering to the side of the fire, ready for when my creator awoke. I was weary, but my cloak was still damp and I didn't want to sleep lest he awaken and do something foolish.

I would not be surprised if, upon waking and seeing me, he would run out into the foggy, chill morning and lose himself in some corner of the desolate island just to make himself ill once more.

Perhaps it would be better not to be present when he awoke, since he generally reacted... violently to my presence.

But if I left him alone… Well, the worst he would do would be to continue experimentation on himself. Perhaps he would actually eat something without my presence to anger him.

I grabbed my cloak again, though it was still damp, and swung it around myself. Again, I wouldn't go far. It would take no more than a minute to return, should I hear some commotion or suspect he was attempting to flee.

The rain from the night before had cleared, though the sky was still overcast and a heavy, damp mist lingered over the ground. The only sounds were a few stray sea-birds and the steady, soft whoosh of the waves against the nearby rocky shore. I wandered back down there and sat on a large rock, watching the waves and allowing myself to become lost in contemplation. I dozed off for awhile, lulled to sleep by the calm sound of the waves and the solitude of my surroundings.

\-----

Victor

It was day when I woke again. My chest still ached, joined by a pounding headache and an uncomfortably dry mouth.

I sat up, recalling the events of the previous night. I expected to still see my cursed creation looming over me, professing concern for me only to turn around and demand my compliance in further abominations. He was nowhere to be seen, however, a fact which brought me great relief.

There was a pot of what seemed to be soup beside the now-dim fire, and it was still hot. For a moment, I considered refusing the prepared sustenance, considering the monster who made it, but my body overrode such thoughts with a ravenous insistence.

As I finished the second bowl, my shameful lapse in self control sated, my gaze was drawn to the back of my left hand. The skin was still marred by those lightning-shaped burns; wounds which would undoubtedly heal into vivid scars.

I knew my face was traced with such wounds as well, and after a moment's hesitation, I stood and removed my shirt. More lightning wounds traced down my neck, over my chest, and down my left arm. I was not sure what that… creature had done wrong that left such marks, but the sight of them revulsed me. What would anyone think of me upon seeing such marring marks? My father, Elizabeth, … Henry?

The burns hurt. I sat heavily on a chair, leaning back and closing my eyes as I caught my breath, just the short activity of eating and looking over my wounds leaving me tired. My rest was interrupted, however, by a knock at the door.

I frowned. There were no scheduled deliveries for that day. How dare anyone bother me?

"Go away," I demanded, trying not to wheeze with the effort of raising my voice.

For a moment there was silence, then a reply. "Victor? It's Henry."

Before I could bring myself to react, the door was opening, Clerval apparently finding the sound of my voice to be confirmation enough that he had found the right place. He didn’t even wait for my response before beginning to berate me. "Heavens above, Victor, for what purpose could you possibly want a location this remote to do your work? I know you need privacy, but this?"

As he walked in, I scrambled to grab my shirt, rushing to slip it back over my head and cover those despicable scars. I couldn't let him know, couldn't tell him… tell him I had  _ died _ . Tell him I was… what? Oh God,  _ what  _ was I now?

"Victor, what have you been doing? Are you alright?" Clerval had apparently finished berating me for running to the ends of the earth.

"I… yes. I am perfectly fine," I replied, keeping my face turned slightly away from him so that he couldn't see the wounds etched over half of it.

"Victor," he sounded exasperated, "please stop lying to me. You look like death warmed over. Why the secrecy? What are you doing out here? Have you fallen ill again?"

I flinched at his choice of words. "I am fine, Clerval. In fact, I'm nearly finished with my work."

"I… Am glad to hear that," he replied slowly. "But…"

“I need you to leave,” I demanded. “I must finish my work, and you should wait for me elsewhere.”

“I’m not leaving, Victor.”

“Clerval…”   


“Don’t “Clerval” me,” he retorted. “Something’s happened to you. Why won’t you look at me?”

“What do you want of me?” I snapped, turning away further. My face hurt and my chest ached. I couldn’t get my breath. Why wouldn’t he leave me alone? “I’m  _ fine _ , Henry. I have work to do, that is all. How did you find me?” My head swam and the chair seemed to move below me.

“However done, it’s a good thing I  _ did  _ find you,” he replied, and I was vaguely aware of his hands on my arms, steadying me, his face appearing before me. “Victor, good God, what did you do?”

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on breathing, not wanting to see his expression as he gazed at my marred face. Darkness closed over me, my head swimming.

“Victor?”


	6. Chapter 6

Creature

As I returned to the shack, something made me pause, some instinct or sound that stilled my hand before opening the door. Someone was inside; someone aside from my creator. I pulled my hand away and walked around the shack, listening closely.

There was no conversation, just the sound of someone moving about inside. I heard the clinking of two glass objects hitting against each other, followed by muffled swearing. The tone of the voice was not my creator’s.

What was this person doing? Had they approached the shack and, finding the occupant asleep, taken the opportunity to break in and rifle through the items within for anything of value?

In that case, it would likely be safer to let the burglar complete their deed and be away with what they could carry.

Unless my creator woke and confronted the intruder... which could lead to his death a second time, and this time by damage beyond my ability to even attempt to repair.

And then where would I be?

I circled around the shack, ensuring the intruder had no backup waiting nearby, then, as silently as I could, I opened the door and slipped inside.

The intruder failed to notice my entrance. He was occupied with something at the far end of the room, sitting on the bed in which I had left my creator sleeping.

A surge of rage flowed over me, fueled by fear and desperation. As foolish as he was, as hated, reckless, and spiteful, Victor was my only chance for company in the desolation that was my existence.

I silently crept up to the intruder, my shadow casting over him as I passed the nearby window and my relation to the source of light shifted.

He froze, hands pausing in some task he was undergoing, and looked up and around. He blanched when he saw me, looming over him, my terrible countenance thunderous with anger.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

He stared at me in horror, and there was something familiar about his face. I knew this man… but from where?

As he stood, I reached forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and lifting him toward me with a snarl. "Why are you here?"

He was still stunned into silence, but as light fell across his face, I knew why I recognized him.

"Clerval," I hissed, and shoved him to the side, against the wall.

He stumbled against it, his breath knocked out by the impact. "Who…" he gasped, holding his ribs and scrambling to place himself again between myself and my creator. "What are… Fiend, I won't let you hurt him!"

Yet again, my creator's  _ dearest _ friend rushed to his aid. Again, arrived to nurse him to health, a steadfast companion the would-be  _ doctor _ didn't deserve. But Clerval was just a little too late this time. My anger melted and, suddenly, I laughed, wondering if this ray of sunshine would still want his dearest Victor, now pulled back from the black grasp of death itself.

This seemed to unnerve the man before me even more than my anger had. He stumbled back, hitting the bed and falling back into a seated position upon it. A groan came from the bed's occupant and my creator stirred.

"What do you want here?” Clerval demanded again.

“Henry, why…” My creator looked around. His face went white as he spotted me, utter panic crossing his expression. “No,” he said. “No, no, no, you can not be here! You must go. Begone! Henry, you must leave.” He struggled into a sitting position, pushing with ineffectual weakness at Clerval, trying to insert himself between his friend and me.

My laughter faded off into an amused chuckle, and I turned away from them, to the fire. The level of liquid in the pot had decreased, so I surmised that my creator  _ had _ actually eaten something, either of his own accord or through Clerval’s encouragement. “Clerval,” I stated, crouching beside the fire, “are you hungry? I imagine you had to travel far to find your dear Frankenstein.”

“Don’t you dare talk to him!” Victor exclaimed.

“How do you know us?” Clerval asked at the same time. I heard a brief scuffle from behind me, and then Clerval spoke again. “Victor, what has gotten into you? Who is this?”

I looked around to see my creator, face still pale with the lightning scars standing out in sharp relief, glaring at me in revulsion, clutching to Clerval and still attempting to insert himself between us. Clerval, for his part, was peering at me suspiciously, one arm wrapped protectively around Victor. I wondered if my creator even noticed the gesture.

“It is…” my creator began.

I interrupted. “I am the product of Victor’s research in Ingolstadt.”

Victor’s glare sharpened. “You are a  _ murderer _ ,” he snapped.

I eyed him evenly. “It would be a shame if Clerval learned of the extent of your… research,” I said.

His face became, if possible, paler. “Don’t you  _ dare _ ,” he hissed.

Clerval looked from me to my creator, confusion and concern creasing his brow. “Victor, what did you do? Who is this?” He looked back to me. “I don’t understand. Are you a… medical patient? Someone with some… tragic disfigurement?”

“No,” Victor said quietly. “He isn’t. Wasn’t. That… demon is a mistake of my own creation. Please, Henry, he is a murderer. Do not be taken in by his tone. It was he who killed William.”

“What do you mean, Victor?” Clerval’s voice wavered.

I eyed the two of them steadily, waiting for my creator to answer.

There was silence for several minutes. “I… created him,” Victor finally said. “I built him from flesh and brought him to life.”

“And then you abandoned me,” I continued sharply when he faltered. “You left me to a world which hated me, hated everything I was.”

“You… killed William?” Clerval asked of me.

I regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “I did not mean to, but yes. And I framed Justine for the boy’s death.”

He thought about that for a moment. “And Victor… you knew.”

My creator did not reply.

“Victor!”

“Yes, I knew,” my creator snapped. “What was I to say? What could I reveal? I would have been thought mad!”

“And Justine would be alive.” Clerval’s voice was sharp.

Silence fell. I chuckled to myself with satisfaction and stood, turning to the door and making to leave. “I will… allow the two of you to discuss in peace.”


	7. Chapter 7

Victor

I was filled with a horror barely sustainable by my weakened body. My creature, the fiend which I had so carelessly given life, stepped out the door with barely a threat, leaving me alone with Clerval.

But what terrors he had revealed. It would be better had he attacked! Had he taken up horrid battle against my dearest friend and spared Clerval the knowledge… but no... That would not have been for the better. I must cling to the fact that Clerval, my dear friend Henry Clerval, sat here alive with me.

No matter what Henry now knew. No matter the anger and disappointment evident in his gaze. He lived.

"Tell me the creature lies, Victor," Clerval entreatied.

I did not answer. I could not.

"You knew, and you said nothing." Henry stood, wincing as he stretched developing bruises from where my creature had thrown him against the wall. He ran his hands through his hair and started pacing through the shack.

"Your father could have seen that Justine was declared innocent with your testimony!" He stated as he paced. I watched him, silent. "And you could have had us search for this… this fiend, this murderer. God, Victor, you  _ built _ him?"

He was on the far end of the shack, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. "Were you never going to tell anyone? To tell me? This thing put you into a state of delirium for nearly a year!" He stopped and fixed me with a sharp gaze. "Did you not trust me to  _ help _ you, Victor? I could have helped you to track him down."

His words stung. Of course I trusted Clerval. I trusted him with my life, with… with anything but this. "I did not want to track him down," I said hoarsely. "I wished to have nothing more to do with the terrible mistake."

This made Clerval pause. "Victor. You created  _ life _ . And you wanted nothing to do with it?"

"You saw the monster's visage!" I exclaimed. "You saw his size, his proportions, his inhuman appearance! He is a demon that should be removed from this earth." But as I spoke, I realized that my words lacked the conviction they would have had but days before. My creation, my horrible, murderous, clever creation… had found me dying and brought me back.

Whatever reason he had to do so, could I in turn still wish his destruction?

"God, Victor, did he even know anything about the world when you turned him out? Did you bother to think about the consequences at all when you created life? Even God aided his creations when they fell short of his expectations."

I wanted to sleep, to sink again into the dark unknowingness where I didn't have to face the results of my actions. But I knew Clerval would continue to push the issue. "I… am no god, Henry."

"No, you are not," he agreed, coming back and sitting on the bed beside me. "You are an idiot. A brilliant scientist with the most eloquent tongue, but an idiot still."

I looked at him cautiously, but his expression had lost that sharp anger. I felt almost worse for that. I did not deserve my dear friend's sympathy.

Clerval looked around the single room of the shack. "What were you doing here? You said you wanted nothing else to do with the creature, and yet…"

I considered deflecting the question, considered a half truth. But now that he had hold of some of the truth, Clerval would not easily let the matter rest.

"The… creature approached me, after…" I tried to take a deep breath to settle myself, setting myself to coughing as I over-extended my stiff lungs. Clerval watched me, waiting. He was going to make me continue my story.

"He approached me, told me of what happened to him after he fled my laboratory, and demanded…" again, I paused.

Clerval frowned. "What did he demand? You knew… You knew he murdered William, and yet…"

"And yet," I echoed weakly, then continued. "He demanded a mate, a companion. He promised to take her to the uncharted wilderness and to never again approach civilization. I… agreed. That is what has occupied me here."

He was silent, thinking, for a long moment, and I looked away, unable to meet his eye. "He said… he said killing William was an accident."

"That is what he claims."

Another long silence, then, "what a terrible existence."

At this, I looked up, surprised by the sadness in Henry's tone.

"To have no connections in the entire world. No family, no way to gain sympathy from strangers… And then to reach out and find you only hurt people… No wonder he asked such a thing of you, even after killing William."

I did not know how to respond to this. I certainly hadn't expected Clerval to express  _ sympathy _ for the monster. But… he did have a point, I had to ruefully admit to myself. After all, even I had been moved to sympathy for long enough to repeat my abhorrent experiments.

I jumped as Clerval brushed the back of my hand with his fingers.

"How did this happen?" He asked.

My dread returned at his question. What could I say? What would he think? I couldn't tell him I had driven myself to my death. I couldn't say that I was now the same sort of abomination I had myself created and fled from.

"An accident with lightning," I replied reluctantly.

Apparently he was satisfied with this answer, as he didn't press further along that particular line of inquiry. "We should talk, I think, with this creation of yours," he said.

As I blanched, he added, "or I can talk to him myself, alone, if you need to rest."

"No, I can come with you," I insisted, pretending I didn't notice the slight smirk of triumph on Clerval's face.


	8. Chapter 8

Creature

I sat outside the shack, leaning against the wall beside the door and listening to the muffled conversation inside. I couldn’t hear every word spoken, but tones were evident enough as the two talked. After awhile, the voices faded and I heard footsteps approaching the door.

I was sure my creator hadn’t told his friend the truth of his own condition. I would hold that information over him if I needed to; I had no intention of being left in eternal solitude.

The door opened, followed by a startled yelp.

“Clerval,” I greeted simply in response.

“My God, you scared me. No, wait,” he added as I began to stand, gesturing without actually looking at me, “stay where you are. I want to talk with you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Victor, come out here.”

I looked up as Clerval stepped out in front of me, followed more slowly by my creator, looking nearly ashen in the wan daylight.

Clerval positioned himself between us. I eyed him critically as he refused to look directly at me, instead straightening and taking up a stiff, authoritative stance. What game was he playing at?

“Victor Frankenstein,” Henry Clerval stated firmly. “You stand here, the sole holder of the secrets of life and death.”

I snorted a quiet laugh, but Clerval ignored me and continued.

“You stand as the creator of a novel creature, sentient and intelligent, and thus, as the responsible party for his existence, your duty to him is that of a father’s, to teach and guide him. Do you contest these facts?”

“Of course I do,” Victor replied, though with less vitriol than I knew he would have answered just days prior. “He’s not a  _ child _ , Henry. Look at him...”

I gazed at my creator, anger again bubbling in my mind, but accompanied this time by disappointment and sorrow. Without the blazing anger fanned by months of solitude consuming my mind and blinding me to other emotions, I realized that his words, his dismissal,  _ hurt _ . I looked away.

“And yet,” Clerval replied, “he was innocent once, yes? Was he created with knowledge of the world, or did he possess a novel mind, open to learning wonder or oppression as it presented itself to him?”

My creator scowled. “He… was unknowing in his first days, yes.”

Clerval nodded sharply, opened his mouth to speak, paused, then looked at me in puzzlement. He actually looked at me, without averting his gaze, until I turned mine on his and he again glanced away. “Do you… do you have a name?” he asked.

“I do not.”

At this, Victor actually looked at me, his mouth working silently, brows drawn in consternation. I wondered if it had ever occurred to him that I should have been given a name, if nothing else in the world. I still did not look at him.

“Very well,” Clerval continued. “We shall address  _ that _ fact in a moment. Creature, you stand… er, sit, before me a new creation, a scant few years old, having found your way in the world on your own. You admit to murder, and to framing that murder on another. Presumably such inclination stems from what you have learned in your short life; alone and, I am sure, feared. Do you contest this fact?”

“I do not.”

He nodded and took a breath. “Ok. So, what are we going to do about this?”

“What do you mean, what are  _ we  _ going to do about it?” my creator demanded, swaying on his feet. Clerval ducked over to help him to a seated position on the damp ground, then sat at a triangle’s point from the two of us. 

“ _ We _ are not going to do  anything , Clerval,” Victor continued, though his tone, rather than sharp, was merely resigned. “ _ You _ are going to go home, I am going to settle matters here, and then neither of us are ever going to lay sight on this… creature again.”

I could not bring myself to look at my creator. My chest ached, anger having faded into deep sadness. I would have preferred the anger.

“If I leave you here,” Clerval said, “what will you do? Will you bring another creature to life as you promised, just to abandon them as well?”

“Not to abandon…”

He cut over my creator’s protest, “and what will that solve, Victor? Do you think that will absolve your responsibility?”

“Yes! That was the entire point…”

Clerval eyed him with disappointment. “Victor…”

There was silence for several long minutes. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. This tousle-haired young man, who had spent so much time caring selflessly for his childhood friend, should not be championing me, who spent so much of my time endeavoring to ruin that same person’s life. 

I did not understand why he would do this, why he would try and hold Victor accountable instead of jumping at any chance to be rid of me.

“No,” my creator finally said, drawing into himself where he sat. He was so small, so fragile and… human like that. “It will not change what I am. Henry, I…  _ I  _ am the monster, don’t you see?” He gestured to himself, to his face and those new, vivid scars, then buried his face in his knees. “Damnit, Clerval, why are you still here? Why do you pursue me? I don’t deserve you.”

Clerval’s gaze softened as he regarded Victor. “You are not a monster, my dear Frankenstein,” he said quietly. “But you can be better than you have been, I know it.”

Oh.

_ That  _ was why. It was deeper than just  _ friendship _ .

“Henry, you don’t know…” my creator began, sucking in a hard, sobbing breath. “I am... “

“You were trying to fix your wrongs,” I interrupted.

His gaze snapped to me, eyes wide. I met my creator’s gaze steadily. I did not understand  _ why _ Clerval loved the man who so carelessly brought such a cursed life into the world, but my earlier desire to drive them apart in my continued quest for vengeance had burned out. I, who was denied companionship, who was denied the basic human emotion of love, would not now deny another the same. I would keep my creator’s death a secret.

“You made a promise, and were keeping it when you had your accident,” I continued. “Even if you can not fulfill your promise now, you intended to keep it, did you not?”

“But…”

“I will leave,” I said heavily. “You have Clerval, he can see to your recovery. I will leave, and never darken your door or thoughts again.”

I made to stand up, but my creator leaned forward, nearly falling forward as he placed a hand on my knee. I froze, the touch sending a shock through me.

“You said once that you ought to be my Adam,” Victor said. “Then... be my Adam. I cast you from the garden, yes, turned you out among the thorns and wild animals, but…” His hand slipped as he wavered, and I gripped his arm to steady him.

He looked up, meeting my gaze without fear for the first time. “Henry is right. I wronged you. Let me be better, and we can seek our penance for our wrongs together.”

I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know the words to reply to such a sentiment. It felt like too little, too late, but at the same time… it released something inside me, that deep yearning for acceptance that I had never seen fulfilled.

“I… do not deserve a chance at penance,” I finally managed. “I do not deserve mercy.”

“Everyone deserves mercy,” Clerval said quietly.

I looked at him, then back to my creator, whose arm I still gripped. I could snap his arm with the smallest motion, extinguish his life by the flex of my fingers, but I did not. I could not. I resolved to never harm someone like that again.

Finally, I nodded.

Clerval sighed and nodded as well. “Come, let’s go inside. Victor, you should rest.”

I helped my creator to his feet, then Clerval slipped under his other arm and took his weight, leading him toward the door.

Before they went inside, Victor turned and looked at me. “Well, come on, Adam. If I’m to be forced to rest, you should be as well.”

I swallowed, throat tight with a strange mix of emotions at the fact that  _ he addressed me by name _ , and nodded instead of speaking as I slipped inside after the two of them.


	9. Chapter 9

Creature (Adam)

“He’s asleep.”

I grunted acknowledgement.

“So...”

I glanced at Clerval, seeing him eying me expectantly and quickly looked away from him, unwilling to see the inevitable horror again taint his expression at the sight of my face. "What?"

"You are Victor's... creation."

"Yes, we established that."

From the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head as he sat on the table. "Absolutely unnerving," he said. "And I don't just mean what you look like. That, one can become accustomed to. But to take dead flesh and stitch it together, pieced from the grave into a… a man! It's a concept more fitting of olden times, of magic and ancient alchemists! Not of today's science and medicine!"

"I am glad to hear you find me so  _ fascinating _ ," I said dryly. His description was gruesome, but not inaccurate.

Henry was silent for a moment before continuing. "Were it anyone else playing so with the secrets of life and death, I would think them abominable. And to display such carelessness…"

I glanced at him again. He wasn't looking at me, his gaze instead fixed on the sleeping form of my creator.

"I can't let him create another one, you know," he continued. "Despite what promise he made you."

I considered this. "I do not think he could sustain such an effort, in any case," I said quietly. It hurt, to think that even that hope was now torn from me. Had circumstances been different… 

"Probably not…" he agreed.

We were both silent for another minute, the fireplace flickering nearby. I placed another log into it from where I sat on the floor.

"Was killing William truly an accident?" Clerval finally asked.

"Does it matter if it was not?" Wasn't I monstrous enough by the mere fact that innocents were dead by my doing?

"I should think it does."

I considered lying. Would it be better to be thought the abomination I looked to be, rather than receive sympathy I did not deserve? Perhaps so… but I did not lie. 

"Killing the boy was an accident. I merely meant to silence him, but instead..." I paused a moment, then added, "placing the blame on Justine... was purposeful. I was jealous, angry. I wanted my creator to hurt, and… I suppose I hoped he would step forward and take the blame for my actions, to accept that it was _he_ who made such a monstrous thing, whose hands can snuff out life so easily..."

"Do you still want to cause him suffering?"

Did I? "No. He will be a cause of his own grief without my further intervention."

Clerval sighed. "I don't doubt that, dramatic as he is. Tell me, Adam, his illness, those burns… what sort of accident caused them?"

I had already resolved during our earlier discussion not to tell Clerval of my creator's death, and I would not do so now as Victor slept. "It was an electrical current, lightning poorly directed. It caused those branching scars."

"And his breathlessness? His weakness?"

"He pushed himself to his limit before I came to him here. He was on the brink of death when I arrived." It was not, in fact, a lie.

Clerval was silent for a moment. "Then it is a good thing you arrived when you did. I do not know what I would do without him."

I did not reply for a long moment. Even with everything my creator had done, how carelessly he shoved everything aside for the sake of his own achievements... Even still... "He does not deserve you."

Clerval laughed. "And yet," he said, "here I am, hopelessly devoted."

"Why?" I tilted my head as I regarded Clerval, thoughts of averting my face or avoiding his gaze forgotten in my curiosity. "I have only ever experienced his loathing; his ire and condemnation. Tell me about my creator, from the eyes of one precious to him."

Clerval leaned back on the table, supporting himself on his arms. "Well, he was my best friend growing up. We had different interests, but… there was something magnetic about his passion, the way he lit up when he talked about his interests. I loved to just listen to him talk, and he would indulge me in the same. We could share views with each other that we would never dare voice to anyone else."

"And then we grew up, and his ideas grew grander. I knew he would pursue his goals to the ends of the earth, as far as he needed to go. And I wanted him to succeed. I wanted to see that light of triumph in his eyes. That glow of untarnished happiness."

Clerval's smile was unabashed as he talked about my creator, but it quickly faded as he continued. "It tore me apart to see him so broken in Ingolstadt. He was… terrified, feverish. It took nearly a year for him to recover, but I stayed with him. I just wanted to see that light in his eyes again…"

I looked away, his words weighing heavily upon me. Even before I had enough sense to understand my own existence, my creator had despised me.

"I can't blame you, you know," Clerval said. I Iooked back at him, surprised that he had read my mood so acutely.

"From what I understand, he had to have worked himself to illness before he even finished you. My dear Victor is a creature of passion, high and low, and... I should have been there to temper him."

"You cannot blame yourself," I stated, confused as to why he even would.

Clerval again smiled, gesturing broadly as he spoke. "But that is the purpose of life! You always think you can do better for the one you love. It drives you to be more valiant, more honorable, braver."

I was silent. I did not know if I quite understood what he was saying, but it sounded nice, even if I would never experience it myself. "It sounds like a fine fantasy."

"Perhaps it won't always be so for you."

I appreciated his optimism, though it brought to mind the DeLaceys and my disastrous attempt at introducing myself. "Do not try to plant false hope, Clerval," I rumbled. "My condition is set. My fate is solitude."

"Well… We'll just see about that."   
  



	10. Chapter 10

Adam

Supplies were delivered to the island the next day. I refused to join my creator and Clerval to accept the delivery, instead sequestering myself within the cabin while people moved about outside. I had no desire to encounter either the merchants or the inhabitants of the island.

They were away for hours. No doubt Clerval took the opportunity to socialize, and I delighted for a time in imagining my creator squirm under the interminable social necessities. Not that I wished him  _ harm _ . Anymore. But some  _ discomfort _ , surely, was not too terrible to hope for.

It was quiet in the empty cabin, and I paced back and forth for a time. The last human remnants of Victor’s prior work had been removed, re-buried early that morning at Clerval’s insistence. There were still various chemicals, glassware, and wires spread about on nearly every available surface, leaving the cabin uncomfortably cramped for two people and myself.

But for now, I was alone with my thoughts. What was I to do, now that both my desire for revenge and for companionship was thwarted? I could not stay here, on these islands. Neither could I follow Victor back to his home… Not having been the orchestrator of his brother's death. Surely the family would despise me for both my appearance and deeds.

What, then? Clerval had mentioned plans to embark on a journey to India, to endeavor toward a merchant's life. Perhaps I could accompany him? Surely such strange and distant lands would be dangerous, and I could offer protection.

But would he even still desire such travels, given the connection I had seen between him and my creator?

I resisted the urge to sweep through the fragile glass apparatus in my frustration and anxiety, instead slamming a hand against a beam of the cabin, the blow shaking the entire building.

I did not belong.

There was nowhere I would find peace.

I had tried, and failed, and now hollow emptiness ate at my heart. It was no longer the howling anger of a blizzard. Instead, it was the barren hopelessness left after, and I knew that I had to leave my creator. Leave him to the life I had given back to him, and pursue my own future.

I turned to his desk and pulled out a piece of paper.

Victor

Henry insisted upon dragging me from the cabin, assuring me that the fresh air would be  _ good for me _ . Nevermind that, of the two of us, _ I _ was the one who had attended any medical school.

Still, he pleaded, and I agreed. The shipment to the island was already halfway unpacked when we arrived at the dock, a few carts already pulling away to make room for the next.

The bustling activity, the sheer  _ energetic _ nature of the people left me feeling pallid in comparison, a mere wisp of a person who had no place in such a scene. But Henry stood by to support me, and I remained as he oversaw the unloading of my own supplies.

He conversed so easily with these men, with the sailors and peasants. I could not comprehend how, as the only interactions I had had with them were stilted, curt things. Perhaps Henry was simply better than me in that regard.

In many regards, really.

My chest still felt tight with scar tissue, the fibers of my lungs seared with the energy of life which had purged them of sickness. It hurt to breathe, but I was glad for it. It had been so long since I was simply glad to be alive.

How ironic that the creature whose shadow cast me to the depths of despair was the thing which prompted this new feeling.

After a far too thorough bout of socializing and overseeing the delivery of the goods to the door of the cabin, Clerval finally permitted us to return. There were some sensitive chemicals in the pile of supplies by the door, but since I no longer had need of them, I left them there with everything else and simply led the way inside.

The interior was dim even in comparison to the overcast day outside. The silence inside hit me with an unnerving force, and it took me a moment to realize why.

The interior of the cabin, though still laid out as we left it, was devoid of life. My creation… Adam was gone.

I stepped inside, Clerval following. I knew it shouldn't worry me. He likely just left for a moment and would return as unnervingly quietly as ever, but instead I found myself… worried?

Had he simply stepped out? Or had something happened...

I turned at the sound of rustling paper to see Clerval pick up a single piece left on the desk, its surface crossed with an unsteady script that was certainly not mine. Worried... Yes, I was worried.


	11. Chapter 11

Victor

_My Creator,_

_I release you from my shadow and I shall demand nothing more from you. Do not fear my wrath on the innocents of humanity. My anger has faded, and I am left nothing but emptiness._

_T_ _hus, I shall seek my fate alone and leave you to yours. Do not pursue me._

_Your Creation,_

_Adam_

“Victor…” Clerval began, and handed the paper over. I read over the short letter quickly, a sickly, sinking feeling coming over me.

"I must go after him," I stated before Henry could continue speaking. "I can't… I can’t abandon him again."

Clerval sighed. "I... think so, too. But you can't go after him like this. You can barely walk for more than a few dozen paces at a time."

“I must.”

“You can not." His tone was sharper than usual, a tone of finality to it I had rarely heard. "We will return home. Once you’ve recovered, I will go with you to seek him out.”  
I stared at him, emotions warring within me. Henry Clerval, my oldest and closest friend, and the temperance to my passion. He spoke sense, of course. I should return. Marry Elizabeth. And be… what? Happy? Settle down to my life while Adam wandered alone?

No… I would go after him. With Clerval beside me.

I reached out, grasping his hand and squeezing it with what strength I could muster. “Very well. We will return to Geneva, and I will regain my strength. And then, you and I _together_ will find him.”

Henry smiled, and that expression alone did more to lift my spirits than days of rest could. “My dear Victor, we will not fail him. Believe me in that.”

Adam

I returned to the mainland and then traveled north. I had no plan, no destination in mind, beyond simply keeping moving. I was gripped with a deep melancholy, a howling loneliness which existed within itself instead of longing for reprieve as it had before.

I hoped that my letter to my creator would dissuade him from trying to follow me, that he would return to his life and his family. What was left of it, anyway.

The weather worsened as I continued northward, turning colder and snowier, but still I continued. Eventually, I found myself in a port town at what felt like the very edge of the world. There were no locals who spoke any language I knew, but I took to listening to them over several weeks, making a home of sorts out of one of many empty warehouses along the docks. There were enough sailors of different backgrounds and tongues passing through for me to gather some understanding of the native speech and of where I was.

The town was called Archangel, a name whose irony did not escape me as the town I settled in, considering my early love of Paradise Lost. Most of those living there were sailors, fishermen. They were tough people, hardened by a cruel climate and long hours on a frozen sea. A far cry from the DeLaceys, and from my own creator and his family.

It was a few months before I drew up the courage to allow myself to be seen by some of the dock workers, fully expecting to have to move on once they caught sight of my visage. To my surprise, they barely registered my presence beyond that of anyone else’s, simply going about their work.

I ventured out more often after that, eventually becoming a common sight on the docks, where I would lend my strength to the loading and unloading of the ships. I didn't say much to the sailors and workers, and they didn't say much to me, but just the camaraderie of working beside them gave me a thrill of purpose and belonging I had never felt before.

It was well into spring when I encountered an oddity in the fishing town. An Englishman who made port and, instead of simply loading up with fish and leaving, came into town with a proposition. I heard the other workers speaking of the journey as I worked. A trip even further north, into the icy storms and winds of the arctic sea, and further still to the pole itself. There was speculation on what may lay there. Some claimed it would be as barren as the tundra itself, others that the storms would clear to leave the traveler in a temperate paradise.

I did not know which account to put my support behind, but when the Englishman came back through the docks, having gathered a measure of men as crew for his expedition, I felt the thrill of opportunity.

I intercepted him as he walked. “I am Adam Frankenstein,” I introduced myself. “I would like to join your expedition, if you would have me.”

He looked up at me, shock and concern on his face, though he quickly schooled them into a more polite regard. He didn’t seem the kind to be a sailor; fairly young, but with an air more of city breeding than the roughness of even the youngest fishermen here.

After a moment, he extended a hand to me in greeting, no fear in his manner. I shook it cautiously. “Captain Robert Walton,” he replied. “I trust you know where we’re going?”

“I do.”

“And are you as strong and sturdy as you look?”

“More so, as the others here can attest to.”

There were a few murmurs of agreement. A glance at those around us showed some surprise at the extent of my speech. I had barely said more than a few words at a time to anyone there, if partially because for a long time I did not know any words in the proper language to say.

“Well, then,” Captain Walton continued, “I would be glad to have you on board.” He released my hand. “We will be off when the weather clears for the summer.”


End file.
